Once We Were
by FuryBurns
Summary: It's been two months since the end of the war, and only a month since Cassandra rose to the Sunburst throne. Corypheus was a great threat, but now that he is gone, the world and all those who ran it before are playing a game to rise to their own power and win their own status as a great ruler. The Inquisitor will have to fight off half the kingdom again to help his Divine Cassandra


**Once We Were**

**Chapter 1**

Alone in his quarters with only his thoughts, quill, and stacks of papers, the Inquisitor Trevelyan did the monotonous work his days almost always consisted of. Curtains were drawn over his two balcony doors, shutting him in with light coming from a single candle on his desk, where everything a few meters out started to blacken and disappear to his eyes. In fact, he had been at this batch of papers for hours. Reading every piece, until he realized it was just a formality sent from a family member, or a congratulations sent from some noble or another. His eyes only came out fully when he noticed a seal of either the Chantry or Inquisition on a letter. Only when he thought Cassandra was messaging him—as she rarely did—or when his allies and friends had requests of him, did he ever care.

Bull's company, the Chargers, had gotten too expensive for the amount of work they could do—since the war was over there was no use for a team like his—so they were let go. Only on rare occasions did the Inquisitor ever meet his old friend.

Vivienne returned to her holding in Orlais, where she is rarely heard from. She left happy, knowing that the Circle of Magi were recreated and for the moment were at a peace with the Templars.

Blackwall returned to wandering the various kingdoms in hopes of recruiting more Grey Wardens, though most of the people keep a passionate disdain and fright of the Grey Wardens, due to their constant involvement against the Inquisition and for Corypheus.

Solus is still missing, and it is assumed that he just left, for reasons unknown.

Cassandra, or rather, Divine Victoria, hasn't been seen by her friends since she left a month ago. She agreed that she'd like to keep in touch with her lover, the Inquisitor, but has only sent one letter since she became Divine, and it was just a mere congratulations to the Inquisitor on being named the protector of Thedas, by herself.

The rest of the company stayed with Inquisitor Trevelyan, for now at least.

Which leaves the hero of Thedas in a rather lonely castle, signing papers blindly, sleeping away a fourth of the day, and getting up to do it all over again.

The Inquisitor brought out a new letter, seeing the seal of a Dale noble—now that the lands of Dale had been repaired and cleared, a few poor local families were installed as the nobles of the land—Trevelyan broke the seal and brought the tip of the quill to the bottom of the paper, pressing deep into the scroll and with the first stroke of his name the quill snapped in half.

"Damn it," he muttered, tossing the pieces to the side of his desk and letting out a painfully exhausting sigh.

He gazed over the remaining stack of scrolls, seeing part of a seal that looked to be from Val Royeaux. The Inquisitor tossed about the covering parchment to be met with the seal of the Chantry, or The Grand Cathedral to be specific.

_The seat of the Divine. Then this is from her?_ Trevelyan thought, breaking the wax, and unrolling the scroll. His eyelids were bouncing against one another, wanting to shut for a moment and leave their owner asleep, but the Inquisitor fought it. Battling his brain for a few more moments of consciousness before he faded, he read the letter aloud to himself.

"To my dearly beloved." _Strange. She's never called me that before._

"I have not heard from you in some time … " _I was under the impression you would be messaging me first, but whatever!_ " … and I cannot help but wonder if you still share feelings for me. I feel abandoned, lonely, isolated, and guilty after leaving you for the Chantry. I tried to remain optimistic, but it's awful here without you. I need you here with me. If not, I can understand, you are the leader of one of the strongest forces in the world, and have enough to deal with on your own. But, I'd like to rekindle our love … " _Is she serious? Rekindle? I was under the impression, once again, that we were still involved!_ "Meet me in Val Royeaux if you're interested in seeing me again. Perhaps we can spend another night sharing one another's warmth, as we did when I became the Divine. - Cassandra Pentaghast"

_That hardly sounds like her at all. I guess being away for so long sas been strenuous on my memory. But … making love when she was Divine? We never did that. Not when she was, just before. What's up with her? _The Inquisitor thought, shaking his head at the note, and hovering it over the fiery tip of his candle. _It was foolish of her to send this to me. It's almost incriminating, now that she's Divine. Though she has always been one to speak her mind, and not prattle about with formalities._

He let the flame take the paper, dropping it onto his plate with a half eaten biscuit and the spotless bone of an nug. Watching it burn, he began to fade for the day. With his quill broke and the new case he had bought all the way on the other side of the room, he let sleep take him, kicking back in his chair and waiting until the flame went out before he himself did.

* * *

"Your Grace! Your Grace!" called a young woman approaching from behind the Grand Cleric, her shoes echoing steps on the stone into and all around the hall.

"Keep Quiet, Cecilia!" the Orlais man spat back, looking down on the girl in a repugnant manner.

She humbled herself before him, cowering in her inferior self-worth, hiding her eyes with her long blonde hair. "I'm sorry," she whined, eyes trained to the stone flooring.

"What is so important that you had to come clopping through my halls like a horse?" he asked, hands on his waist while he beamed through to her soul, his cold, lifeless eyes unblinking and unmoving from her position.

He might have looked a feeble old man, with his thinning pepper and salt hair, and old pasty skin, but he looked a demon of great strength to the common-folk.

"I did as you asked. The letter-"

He through his open palm to her lips, closing them together with a gruff mumble from her.

"I understand. You don't need to be so forward about it. A simple, I completed the task assigned to me, would have worked wonders. Now, go back to your room, and leave me to complete our finishing move in this game. Yes?" he asked, nodding to her, still holding the face of evil as he faked a smile.

She nodded without another word, and he released her. He eyes twitching as if she thought he would have hit her, hands shaking from his threatening touch, and her stance lowered as she left the hall and made her way back to her room.

The Grand Cleric scoured the bland halls of his chantry for a few seconds, searching every crack in the stone, every barrel or crate, every torch for any sign of an eavesdropper until he found it safe to leave. He gave a huff, twirling his blue and white trimmed cloak with him, and made his retreat to his room, all the while chuckling a sinister sound, and scanning the rooms for any person with an open ear.

* * *

When the sun rose the next day, the Inquisitor left his quarters behind and proceeded for a walk throughout the castle. Making his way through the halls, getting many 'my lords' and 'Inquisitor' as he passed his troops, nodding back in reply. A faint smile played on his face when he passed the nobles that looked so eager to bury their noses into his ass, in the hopes of sharing in his great fame and splendor. They gave bows and a few cheers any time he was near, hoping to be recognized, hoping to be endowed with a castle of their own somewhere.

Walking down the stairs, with the intention of grabbing a horse and making haste for Val Royeaux, he was joined by Cullen, who took to his side as he walked.

"Going somewhere, Inquisitor?" Cullen asked, taking note of the beauty in the sky, and paying close attention to the wound in the sky. "Some fade rifts to close? There's still many open, and I'd think if we closed two or three a day, we could probably have them all cleared up in a few months."

"Really? Only a few months?" he replied.

"Yes, our work here is almost done, then we can finally rest, and focus on more human manners of the world."

"Well, no, I didn't plan on doing that today. I got a letter from Cassandra. She sounded strange … I think something might be wrong."

"Something wrong as in life-threatening? Or rather something wrong as in she stubbed her toe on her throne?" Cullen asked with a smile on his face.

"I think the former is more likely."

"She sounded that strange?" Cullen asked.

"She addressed me as her dearly beloved," the Inquisitor replied with a raised brow.

Cullen and most of the Inner Circle had known of their relationship, so most of this came as no surprise to them.

"Hmm. Strange indeed. I'll assemble your guard regardless of the problems she faces. If you're leaving you need to be protected," Cullen made a sharp turn at the bottom of the stairs and was headed straight for the barracks.

Trevelyan rolled his eyes at Cullen, knowing he was only doing his job. The Inquisitor didn't enjoy being with a watch every time he left Skyhold's walls. It made him feel lesser, and weaker. _But if Cassandra really is in danger, then I doubt forty guards will help anymore than she could help herself. I wonder if she ever gets a chance to hit something._

"I heard it was time to go annoy Her Perfection," Varric said, following the Inquisitor to the stables. "I was gonna give her a new book of mine. That character she loved that died in the third chapter. I brought him back, but this time he dies in the end. Huhuhu. She's gonna be so pissed when she finds out," Varric continued a gruff laugh at the thought as he walked.

"It'll be the first time in history a Divine has ever choked a dwarf to death, I suppose," the Inquisitor returned with a chuckle.

"Er … yeah, I'll be long gone by the time she finds out … hopefully."

"In all seriousness, Varric. We need to be careful. She seemed strange in her letter to me."

"Strange? Did the letter sound boring? A repetitive use of words? Any misspellings? If so, I think that's just the way she writes, Inquisitor."

"No, last I remember, it sounded well-written."

"Huh … then she's definitely acting strange."

The Inquisitor smiled at his friends jest, and motioned to Dennet. "My horse ready, Dennet?"

"Yes, Inquisitor. He's saddled and ready for action," Dennet said, patting the horse on the leg.

"I pray to the Maker that there is _no _action. I don't need to waste my sword on another civil war," the Inquisitor replied, taking the reins of the horse and walking off with it after a nod to Dennet.

Cullen rejoined the Inquisitor with forty soldiers mounted behind him. "We're ready for your command, Inquisitor," Cullen said, a slight bow of his head leading the others behind him to do the same.

"You ready, Varric?" Trevelyan asked, looking down to his friend.

"Of course. In fact, there's this Orlesian merchant who owes me some money from a bet a few months ago. I've been meaning to collect."

The Inquisitor mounted his horse in one swift motion, and pondered on Varric's words. "What was the bet?"

"Oh, just on whether you could actually defeat Corypheus or not. Huhuh. I guess he thought he'd end up being the richest man in the ash-covered, dark-spawn infested world."

* * *

In the Grand Cathedral, where the red carpet converged to one towering chair, sat Her Perfection the Divine Victoria. A chunk of polished gold was carved to be her throne, as it was for every Divine past. The hall was wide and open, enough room to fit a village of giants. Her robe was different than that of other divines and sisters. Most women of the Chantry wore a robe of red on white, while her's was a darker tone of blacks and reds. Four more chairs were lined with hers, two on her left and two on her right—the seats of some of the more important of the Clerics—though they were vacant as of now.

The only occupants in the room itself were the Divine herself, standing tall and in confidence over five kneeling men, looking down on them with hate and disgust. A heated debate had just ended, with the soldiers kneeling before the Divine in respect, and waiting on her word. Her face softened, though it wasn't a look of joy, just mere neutrality. She held her arms out to her sides, fluttering her fingers in a motion for the men to stand.

They complied and kept a bowed head to her before hearing her speak.

"If this Order of Grand Clerics wants to parlay then so be it. I will meet with your leaders tomorrow in the center of Val Royeaux for all to see and hear your terms of a peaceful solution," she said, turning her head to the right and nodding at her specified 'right hand' to take the men outside the Cathedral.

Jolee of the noble Free Marcher house of Bindo did as she bid, and lead the long path to the large doors of the grand hall, keeping a hand on his swords pommel as he walked. He was an old man, dark-skinned, tall, bald, and had a patch of grey facial hair around his mouth and chin.

Cassandra, without turning, took a few steps back and landed in her throne. It took nearly a minute before the five soldiers were out of her hall. She occupied her time looking to the pits around the white columns that held the ceiling up, watching a crimson heat burn and crackle gently. The greenery was scenic and attractive, seemingly every color of plant and any type was mounted on the walls or in baskets that hung from the ceiling. Even the air smelled of a pompous and flamboyant man's wardrobe. _I'd much rather be whittling a post into a pike with my sword than sit here all day. Maker's breath, if only I could sneak out for a night and be myself again._

"Most Holy Divine, there are no more visitors to see you. I'm ready to escort you to your room whenever you are ready," Jolee said looking behind him at the row of guards that lined that red carpet, inspecting their armor for a second.

"Thank the Maker. We've been in here for an hour already," Cassandra said with a sigh, standing and walking ahead with her Right-Hand by her side, and the soldiers falling in behind them as they walked.

Jolee gave a shrug. "More like four hours actually."

"That would explain the light-headedness," she commented, lifting her tall black hat to scratch at her head.

"I'll admit, I fell into a daydream while they were petitioning you with those droll words of peace," he said in a slightly humiliated tone.

"Ha! No worries. I would have done the same, if only my seat was more comfy."

"I can have my guards find a couple pillows for the seat, if you'd like," he returned in a mostly serious tone, though a chuckle deceived his hidden jest.

"No that'll be quite all-" The sound of metal on metal interrupted Cassandra's conversation abruptly.

The soldiers halted and looked to the door, lifting their shields and turning to face the large double doors.

"What's going on?" Jolee asked, wrapping his fingers around his sword's hilt, grasping for a fight.

Behind the doors an orchestra of hacking and bashing was heard, with a few gasps of breath and screams that lasted no more than a few seconds. The bodies were heard dropping, all six guards posted outside must have been slain. Then, there was silence. It was worse than the sounds of death, but the Chantry guards braved it. They took a few steps forward and made themselves sturdy in a line, shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the Divine Victoria.

"Who are they, and how'd they get past the guards?" Jolee asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," answered Cassandra, "give me a sword," she commanded.

"This is not a battle for you to be fighting, Most Holy. Stay out of it," Jolee said, unsheathing his sword and gripping it with both hands, holding it steady in the center.

"When did the Maker put you in charge? And why wasn't I notified?" Cassandra retorted with a perplexed expression.

"I'm sorry, but we can't risk you getting hurt, or worse."

A smashing brought the doors bulging inward, shaking the framing and backing the line of men further away. Another smash came right after, a battering ram was keen on turning the large dark-wood doors to splinters.

"Shield wall!" Jolee yelled.

The soldiers responded with a smashing of their tower shields into the ground, keeping the space between minimal. The reflective shield gave light from the torches, a sparkle was found on every Chantry symbol on their shields. In unison they raised their spears and notched them into a hole in the top of their shields, keeping them steady and pointed at the crumbling doors.

When the final blow was given, the doors came falling down, and with two great thuds they sent splinters and dust into the faces of the soldiers, blocked by the tower shields.

"Protect Divine Victoria!" Jolee yelled, though the soldiers didn't charge, they waited on the enemy to be seen behind the clouds of dust.

When the enemy emerged, they didn't charge, nor did they hold their swords for battle. They walked in two single file lines, with pikes held to point up at the Maker, and merely came to a stop when the first dozen had entered though many more could be seen shifting in the back. Their leaders emerged, turning the corner of the hall and stepping over the broken doors. An old man, dressed in holy cloth entered with more holy men and women behind him.

"What is the meaning of this, you traitorous bastard!" Jolee yelled, relaxing his sword arm and sneering to the aggressor.

"I've come for the Divine. We … have come for the Divine," he answered, holding his hands out to his massive troop of traitors, or should he succeed in whatever he wants to do, liberators. "By the Maker, I do proclaim you, Divine Victoria, a witch and heretic to our faith."

"You dare threaten my Divine. Our Most Holy! You traitor!" Rorik yelled—a peasant man born not knowing his parents. He was Cassandra's Left Hand, and just as proficient with his blade as she.—Pushing through his soldiers to be closest to the Grand Cleric, he looked at the old man with narrowed eyes and flared his nostrils in anger. He was a brave young man, but wrathful and reckless.

"It doesn't have to be a threat, and if you call me traitor again I will have your head," he said with an irritated twitch in his eyes.

"On what charges are these claims?" Cassandra asked.

The Grand Cleric smiled, and gave a light chuckle before answering. "You broke your vows of celibacy, and consorted to place the Inquisitor as the head of all empires and kingdoms. I found all of your letters to him, and I know of your ... condition."

"What! What letters, and what condition?" Cassandra asked, jerking her head back in dismay.

"No doubt it's a lie, whatever he says!" Rorik yelled, looking to his men and the enemies. "He just wants the Sunburst throne for himself. You old, up-jumped, greasy-haired, pug-looking, traitor!"

Then, before Rorik could realize his folly, a dagger caught him in the neck, splattering his blood across his soldiers' shields. A woman, in a black cloak had appeared beside him, now chuckling and watching him gurgle and choke on his own source of life.

"No! You bastard!" Cassandra yelled, reaching down to one of Rorik's soldiers, and pulling a blade from his belt.

Her guards and Jolee stopped her before she could do something stupid, breaking formation, three soldiers pulled her back and disarmed her.

"Get off of me!" she yelled, kicking and yelling, smacking her soldiers with any free body-part she had use of.

"We're outnumbered, don't do something stupid!" Jolee yelled, holding her back.

Rorik's guards groaned and roared, stepping forward a few paces, before being stopped with the advance of the enemy.

"Call them off, or I'll kill every single one of you lot!" the Grand Cleric yelled, a smile on his face, a sharp and evil smile.

Rorik was on his knees, gripping at his neck, bubbles of blood coming from his mouth and even more spilling from his throat. It took him a while before he was out, but eventually he fell and his sounds ceased.

Cassandra hesitated. She wanted action, and justice for her fallen friend, and Left-Hand, but there would be no winning against the Grand Clerics superior force, so she submitted, regretting it all the while. "Drop your weapons, we will come peacefully, but spare my people. You can have me! You traitor." She wasn't going to get herself, her Right-Hand and all those loyal to her killed for nothing.

"Ha! Detain her, and bring her with us," he commanded two of his soldiers.

Thankfully he was true to his claim and let the guards live, but he also took Cassandra with him as promised, leaving the throne unattended, all the while laughing like a maniac, with his female companion by his side, giggling right along.

Cassandra could only think on what these claims he conjured up were about, and if he had any actual proof to try her as a witch or traitor, or heretic. But she knew it would have to be a lie, because she had no intention of putting her lover and friend, the Inquisitor, on some new throne to control the known-world. The Grand Cleric would lie and cheat his way to victory, and Cassandra would have to stand tall and take whatever punishment he saw fit, for her only way of winning and fighting was with a sword, which she no longer possessed.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, if you want more, follow, if you like it, favorite, and if you have questions or opinions to be shared, review.**


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